


We are NOT the Waiting (Because Fuck That Shit)

by grey2510



Series: Misc SPN One Shots (<10k words) [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, I'm just trolling a comment I got on the original fic, M/M, read that first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9207806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: This is a "director's cut" version of "We Are the Waiting", posted here:http://archiveofourown.org/works/8967262.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for durenjtmusings, who did appreciate that I caught many of my typos and that the original version of this fic was “structurally sound”, but seemed not to like the fact that there was a lot of well...waiting...in a fic entitled, “We are the Waiting,” commenting, “Didn’t move me - somehow felt too calm, too quiet.” Also, in an effort to appease all readers, especially ones who feel that a fic might be “too depressing,” I have made some alterations to the tone. Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for original comment.](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/88808606)
> 
>  
> 
> (This is totally unbeta'd -- like, I didn't even read it over before posting it. I might later. Or I might not.)

_Drip._ CRASH.

 

 _Drip._ CRASH.

 

 _Drip._ CRASH.

 

Dean glares angrily at the ceiling, about to Hulk-smash the air vent. It’s bad enough when there’s a drip, but when the water comes down with the force of a thousand cannonballs, it does tend to make any sort of rest in a prison difficult.

 

The barred and unreachable fluorescent light in the left corner of the ceiling buzzes and hums like a hive of angry hornets.

 

“STOP BUZZING!” Dean screams with all the anger, even though he knows it will accomplish nothing.

 

To pass the time, he marches over to the bed, flips it over, and WRENCHES A GODDAMN LEG OFF THE BED.

 

Fuck, it’s hardly more difficult to do than snapping that phone in half with his bare hands a few weeks ago.

 

And people say Sam’s the badass. Well, fuck them.  

 

(Maybe even literally. What? Dean’s a horny S.O.B. and he’s been in literal lockdown for weeks. No bars to cruise, no angels to bang. Hell—pun intended—he'd even settle for a quick throw with Crowley at this point.)  

 

Wielding the bed leg like it’s fucking Andúril, Dean saunters (yeah, that’s right, he fucking SAUNTERS. Just wait ‘til you see this mofo SASHAY) to the wall opposite and gauges another tally mark into the concrete with a horrific scraping noise that almost makes his own ears bleed.

 

Another mark on the wall.

 

Another day in this place.

 

The metal pole clatters to the ground as Dean looks up at the ceiling, yelling out, not caring if the guards can hear, “CAS, GET ME DAFUQ OUTTA HERE, YOU FEATHERY BASTARD. THERE IS TOO MUCH CALM AND QUIET IN THIS PLACE. FUCK THIS SHIT. Amen.”

 

Luckily for Dean, the prison isn’t too depressing. As soon as he finishes making his prayer, the guards do throw him a bone and start pumping in some Led Zeppelin over the speakers to pass the time.

 

Dean is kind of pissed a little bit later (if only because he can’t stop tapping his toes to the beat, and no he does _not_ start rocking out—where the hell would you ever get that idea?) when they start playing Taylor Swift.

 

 _Cas, man_ , he prays, this time silently, _I just need to shake this place off._

 

The next morning, the guards slip him a fuzzy blanket through the slot in the door with his breakfast (eggs, bacon, pancakes — with real maple syrup!). It’s soft and pink and sparkly and just so damn _cheerful_.

 

Dean kind of loves it.

 

*****

 

With the windows rolled down and “Back in Black" blaring from the speakers, Mary speeds towards the lot where they plan to leave the car during their rescue mission. Slamming on the brakes and spinning the wheel, she skids the car to a stop like this is the fucking _Fast and the Furious._ (SO MUCH ALLITERATION FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT. YOU’RE WELCOME.)

Gravel flies everywhere, pinging off abandoned light poles and bigger rocks and even a goddamn rusted out trash bin. Cas flips off the lone guy standing about a hundred yards away, mouth open in shock as the black beast of a car makes its entrance.

“Yeah, that’s right, bitch!” Mary calls out. “Jealous?”

The man doesn’t answer, still dumbfounded.

Castiel unleashes one of his smiting, glowy-eyed looks at the man.

“You should leave. Now.”

The man runs, the papers he was carrying for some unknown purpose scattering like leaves or something super poetic behind him. It’s glorious. Mary and Cas turn to each other and snicker.

“Are you sure this will work?” Mary asks from the driver’s seat of the Impala. It’s strange seeing anyone but Dean—or even Sam—there, but Mary had argued that she’s screwed a Winchester in the backseat more often than Cas has, so she has more rights to the car.

Not wanting to argue this point with his more or less mother-in-law/reveal that she’s more or less his mother-in-law, Cas had graciously handed over the keys.

(She’d also claimed that angels drive like grandmas, which is possibly more true, and so they’d screeched out of the Bunker like the place was on FIRE. Cas thinks Dean might not be too happy about the burnt rubber on the garage floor, but fuck ‘m.

Except not yet. They have to get him out of prison first.

Damn technicalities.)

Castiel looks down at the bluish glass sphere in his hands. It’s glowing softly with tendrils of Grace, and the delicate etchwork on the surface flashes occasionally. He cradles it gently with both hands, careful not to break it; when broken, the Grace should react with the spellwork and knock any human in its vicinity unconscious.

“The Holy Hand Grenade is a go,” Castiel confirms. “Is your arm still good?”

Mary nods, pushing back her sleeve to reveal the carefully drawn Enochian script done in black Sharpie. “What about Sam and Dean?”

“Branded them with angel warding years ago. Have you seen your sons? Gotta lock that down or all the angels would be all up ons. Oh, I also branded Dean with my handprint. But that’s not relevant to this.”

Mary gives him a look. “You’re strange.”

“Bite me.”

She ignores that. “Alright, gimme the odds on this thing.”

He sighs. “At best, it weakens me, or I also become unconscious. At worst, it kills me. Somewhere in the middle would be losing my Grace and becoming human.”

Mary considers this. “Well, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ok, you ready?”

“Yes.”

They get out of the car in slow-motion like the goddamn badass heroes they are (big damn heroes, one might say).

Mary cocks her weapon. “Let’s get these sons of bitches.”

Castiel is about to reply when a large silver vehicle blocks out the sun and hovers above them.

“IT’S THE SONTARANS!” Castiel yells over the impossibly loud engines of the craft.

“WHO?” Mary yells back.

“NO, THE SONTARANS. NOT THE DOCTOR. THEY’RE ALIENS.”

“THERE’S ALIENS?”

“OF COURSE THERE’S ALIENS!” Castiel cries in exasperation. “MY FATHER’S UNIVERSE IS INFINITE!”

Mary opens her mouth to comment when another laser blast shoots up even more tar. A small piece grazes the Impala, putting a long scratch in the door.

In perfect synchronization, Castiel and Mary regard the scratch, each other, and then the Sontaran craft, the latter with murder in their eyes.

“LET’S GANK THESE MOTHERFUCKERS. NO ONE MESSES WITH BABY,” Mary roars.

“I THINK IT’S ‘NOBODY PUTS BABY IN A CORNER,’” Cas corrects, proud of his pop culture knowledge, even if it came from, as Dean would call him, Metadouche.

“WHAT?”

“NEVER MIND. AFTER YOUR TIME.”

The Sontaran craft door opens and the squat little aliens begin lining the opening.

“FOR BABY!” Mary cries.

“FOR HUMANITY!” Castiel cheers, carefully tossing the Holy Hand Grenade back into the car—without breaking it—and reaching for the actual grenade launcher in the trunk.

Dean would probably be sad he’s not the one to use it, but such is life.

“GET BACK!”

Mary’s eyes widen at the sight of the grenade launcher, but she doesn’t get a chance to react because the next thing they know, the air is practically red all over from the salvo of laser shots from the Sontarans. She ducks behind the car.

Calmly, Castiel steps forward and raises the grenade launcher.

“For Dean,” he mutters, and pulls the trigger.

The fireball is immense. The craft explodes into infinitesimal pieces, as do the Sontarans. The heat and air blows back against Castiel, who stands firm. If anything, he’s glad for this: his hair has been entirely too flat of late, and he’s sure that this will rectify the situation and return him to his previous sex-hair glory. (Especially since he hasn’t been getting this look the old fashioned way, so to speak, not with Dean incommunicado.)

After a moment, Mary stands up from behind the car, which is miraculously unscathed save for the aforementioned scratch. Absently, she pulls a chunk of dead Sontaran out of her hair.

“Gross.”

“Deal with it,” is Cas’s only reply, shouldering the grenade weapon and reaching again for the Holy Hand Grenade. “Let’s get Sam and Dean back.”

“Bitches gonna pay.”

 

*****

 

Sam finishes off his thousandth push-up of the day, and no that’s not hyperbole: this is Sam Fucking Winchester. All of a sudden, there’s a CRASH from the hallway.

He crosses quickly to the door, about to rip the thing off its hinges (he probably could have earlier, but he just wasn’t properly motivated until now).

“SAM! IT’S MOM. GET BACK! WE’RE BLOWING SHIT UP.”

“FUCK YEAH,” he answers, calmly.

_BOOM. CRASH. EXPLODE. MUCH DEBRIS AND BROKEN DOOR._

Sam Fucking Winchester is free.

 

*****

[A/N: Much of this has been cut from here on out in favor of ACTION instead of something boring like waiting and being calm and quiet and character development and introspection. That stuff’s for chumps.]

 

As soon as his door is open, Dean raises a fist to punch whoever is coming through. Luckily, Mary anticipates and blocks that punch, twisting her son’s arm up and around his back.

“It’s your mother, goddammit!” she growls.

“Oh, shit!” he apologizes. She lets him go and they immediately dart out of the room. “Wait!”

“What?”

“I...need something,” Dean says, returning to his cell. “Get Sam!” he calls over his shoulder.

Mary rolls her eyes and gets to work breaking her other son out of the prison. When she looks back, Dean’s cradling Castiel in a fuzzy pink blanket, helping the semi-conscious angel to his feet.

The four of them run to the car—well, stumble might be a better word for Cas’ progress, even with Dean and Sam helping.

“Some rescue mission,” Dean teases.

“Still got one more surprise…" Cas says as he collapses into the backseat of the Impala.

At that precise moment, the entire building explodes behind them in a fantastic fireball.

“You’re a badass angel,” Dean smiles.

“I know…"

Except then the motherfucker passes out.

Frigging angels.

 

There are a lot more...gadgets at hospitals now. Mary’s not sure why she’s surprised, considering how everything else has changed in the past thirty years. Although, there’s a part of her that’s somehow weirdly comforted by the fact that people still need medical care in much the same way they did before—it’s not like they wave a magical device the size of these cellphones and you’re instantly healed.

They take Castiel in immediately, and try to usher Dean, Sam, and Mary to the waiting room, but Dean and Sam aren’t having any of it. As soon as the nurses aren’t looking, they duck through the doors.

“I thought you were gonna have to knock that dude’s crutches so the nurses’d go help him,” Dean mutters to Sam.

“Anything so you can see your boyfriend,” Sam shrugs.

Mary halts in the hallway. “Your _what?_ ”

“Oh yeah,” Dean replies, barely turning around; Mary jogs to catch up again. “Me ‘n Cas have been super gay—well, bi for me, I guess, and what? pan? for Cas?—for each other since forever and since we both hate waiting and being calm and quiet, we decided to start fucking almost immediately.”

“And they’re definitely not calm and quiet about it,” Sam mutters bitterly.

“That...explains a lot,” Mary answers.

“Yep, it does,” Sam agrees.

 

*****

 

“Sir,” the doctor—a woman in her late fifties with iron-grey streaks amongst dark curls and firm eyes behind red-rimmed glasses—begins, “I have some questions about...Mr. Winchester?”

“His name’s Cas, Doc,” Dean retorts.

“Right,” the doctor says, before continuing. “Well, it seems his tests aren’t _normal_ and—"

Whatever she’s about to say next gets cut off by Dean punching her in the face, knocking her out cold. She skids across the white floor before crashing into a defib cart.

“Dude,” Sam admonishes.

“What? She was gonna figure out he’s not human. Had to do _something_.”

“Guess you’re right.”

Without waiting for further invitation, Dean enters the room, Sam and Mary close behind. Cas is propped up on a bed, and Sam is relieved to see that he seems to be breathing on his own, and his only support system is the IV bag standing sentry by his side with the monitors.

It takes Dean all of two seconds to establish his place in the room, which is of course right next to Cas. Impatient as always, and certainly not calm, Dean slaps him, hoping that’ll wake him up.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go get us some coffee,” Mary says. “Maybe something to eat. I saw signs for a cafeteria.”

“Oh, I can help—" Sam offers half-heartedly.

She puts a hand on his arm. “No, you stay. This is...this is a family thing.”

Sam’s thankful that either Dean doesn’t hear that or is choosing to ignore it. “You’re family, Mom.”

“I know. Just, you’re needed here more than I am.”

 

*****

 

He’s had some long nights in his day, and he’s had more than a few over a hospital bed, but he’s decided he’s not going to have one tonight. No sirree, Dean is fed up with waiting. Cas is waking up pronto.

“You gotta wake up, Cas. I know you’re trying to pull the human shtick, but I gotta tell ya, man, your acting hasn’t gotten any better,” he jokes hollowly. “Those tests? I mean, it’s not Agent Beyonce-level bad, but c’mon, you coulda tried a _little_ harder to come off normal.”

Of course there’s no response.

“Jesus, Cas. First you and Lucifer, and now this? You can’t do this to me—us. Not again, dammit.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, man, if you die, I’m gonna kill ya.”

“I thought was my job.”

Dean knows that voice, and it freezes his blood. Standing up slowly, he turns to face her. Sam, it seems has woken up at her entrance, and he, too, is on his feet.

“Billie?” Sam says.

“Hello, Sam,” she answers, almost amused. “Dean.”

His hands clench by his sides. “What the fuck are you doing here? You reapin’ angels now?”

One corner of her mouth turns up. “It’s a hospital, Dean. People die here all the time. It’s kind of my scene. And no, but even if I were, does Castiel really count these days?”

Sam furrows his brow. “Wait, can you do that? Reap other angels?”

“There’s a lot I can do,” is the only cryptic answer they get, but that’s not what concerns Dean. Not right now at least.

“Whadya mean he’s not an angel?”

Billie crosses her arms. “How many fully powered angels have you seen lying in a hospital bed?”

“Not really human, though,” Dean says, then pauses. "...is he?”

“Thought that doctor answered that question, even if she didn’t know it.”

“What do you want, Billie?”

“For you to get a fucking move on and wake him up.”

“I’m trying, dammit!” Dean growls, then impulsively marches (ok, he sashays there and it's amazing and fierce) to the bed and plants one on Cas’ definitely not-chapped lips (who would say they’re chapped?).

“True love’s kiss?” Billie says with an amused raised eyebrow.

“Fuck you,” Dean and Sam reply in unison.

“So adorable when you two talk at the same time," she says and then disappears.

“Dean?” an all-too welcome voice rasps out from behind Dean. “Sam?”

Dean spins on his heel to face the bed once more. “Cas? Cas, buddy, you ok?”

Heavy-lidded eyes groggily find Dean’s face, and the corners of Cas’ mouth drag back slowly for a small smile. “We got you out?”

“Yeah, yeah, you did, man. You did good. Nearly killed yourself trying, y’dumb bastard, but you did it. You and Mom—you came through for us. Like you always do.”

“Not always,” Cas admits ruefully.

Sam is next to the bed now, too. “You do when it matters, Cas. Can’t thank you enough, man.”

Looking between the two of them, Cas says, “Brothers, right? That’s...what you...do.”

“Dude. You are _not_ my brother,” Dean argues. “I don’t care what the fangirls say: me ‘n Sam definitely don’t do...y’know...what me ‘n you do.”

“Oh, you mean intercourse?”

“What, are you fucking Sheldon Cooper?” Dean snorts.

“No, I’m fucking you,” Cas deadpans.

“Aaaand I’m out,” Sam declares.

Under the pretense of helping Cas sit up, Dean takes the angel’s hand and put his other hand behind his shoulder. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s get out of here before we have to start paying bills and insurance. We’ll get Mom and we’ll head out.”

“Where?” Cas asks, allowing himself to be pulled up, disconnected from his IV, and put in a somewhat unsteady standing position.

“Home, Cas. We’re going home.”

Sam is already in the hallway checking to see if the coast is clear, while Dean loops an arm around Cas’ waist to help him walk—if Cas didn’t need the stability, Dean might’ve gone for an ass-grab. It’s been awhile and Chuck definitely knew what he was doing when he made Jimmy Novak.

They meet Mary in the hallway, and she holds out a cup of coffee to Sam.

They’re almost at the back exit to the hospital when the alarms sound.

“That for us?” Dean wonders, surprised.

Suddenly, nurses and doctors are running up and down the halls, calling out to each other.

“Lock it down!” one cries.

“Everyone into quarantine mode!”

“NOT EBOLA!” one nurse wails, crashing to her knees. “Dear God, why?!?”

Cas, of course, picks that moment to speak again. “God isn’t listening. Sorry. He’s on an extended vacation with his sister.”

“What?” the nurse weeps.

Dean drags the angel away. “Okay, Rain Man, out we go.”

Out in the parking lot, the air is crisp and clean.

“Well,” Sam says philosophically, running a hand through his glorious locks, “at least it wasn’t Croatoan.”

Dean gives a hearty belly laugh as Mary opens the Impala door so they can pour Cas into the backseat again. “Damn straight.”

The door closes and Dean catches sight of the long, hairline scratch in Baby’s beautiful black paint.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

 

End.

 

Epilogue:

The paint scratch was fixed. Dean and Cas had the sex. Mary and Sam invested in noise-canceling headphones. Dean and Cas cuddled in the super soft pink blanket. Sam adopted a dog. They lived happily ever after.

  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sorry -- this was way too much fun to write.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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